


Why I'm Kissing You Tonight

by JuliaJekyll



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Cheating, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Smut, F/F, Girls Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7474104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set early in Season 3. What happens when the controlled, careful Dr. Bedelia du Maurier meets a beautiful, seductive young woman at a party in Florence?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why I'm Kissing You Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something a bit new this time. I'll be honest: I'm quite attracted to Bedelia, so this miiiight have something to do with that, but I also really want to explore her character a bit more. She's a person who is careful not to follow her passions, and I wanted to think a bit about what might happen if she did follow them...especially with Hannibal around. Enjoy!

Carina Viretti swished her wine back and forth in her glass, absently letting the dark red liquid tumble over itself and froth like foam on the sea. People were talking around her, but people were always talking, and Carina had long since stopped paying attention. This wasn't her crowd, anyway; she was there as the plus-one of a university professor at least forty years her senior who was in the habit of bringing a beautiful young woman to every function he attended in an attempt to dispel rumors of his homosexuality—rumors which, incidentally, were perfectly true, though no one could prove it and no one tried. People carefully ignored it, as if they'd bring down the plagues of Egypt by talking about it. The attitude toward such things was still frightfully backwards in Italy, in Carina's opinion. Probably a result of the oppressive, ever-present Catholicism.

  
Carina herself was a medical student, more interested in the practical sciences than in art and literature, and at the moment, she was observing something very practical and very immediate: a gorgeous blonde woman in a shimmering gown, spinning about the dance floor in the arms of a man who looked like he'd stopped here on his way to have his portrait painted. They were married—Carina could see the rings—but that meant little to her, and she couldn't help but be mesmerized by the woman's beauty. The way she held her blonde head, straight above her exposed, milk-white shoulders (which Carina would gladly have given her ludicrously expensive sapphire pendant, a thank-you gift from her university professor, to touch), spoke of poise, dignity, and perhaps even a touch of haughtiness. Her magnificent hair was artfully bound up in a net, and Carina longingly pictured it cascading over her shoulders, then pictured herself pushing it away so that she could run her lips over the woman's skin.

  
She wondered just how attached this woman was to her handsome husband. It wouldn't be the first time Carina had seduced a married woman, after all. With her classic Italian good looks—olive skin, dark brown hair and eyes, proud, high forehead and stature—Carina was no novice when it came to getting attractive ladies to do what she wanted them to do, regardless of whether or not they professed to be straight or already had a partner. She never forced or coerced; she simply awakened desire. She inspired it. She was good at it.  
Carina took a thoughtful sip of her wine, watching with practiced coolness as the handsome husband skillfully dipped the beautiful blonde woman nearly to the floor at the end of the dance.

  
He'd have to leave her alone eventually, and then Carina would make her move. If it didn't work—as it sometimes didn't—well, no harm done. If it did, she might have something worth looking forward to at the end of this interminable evening. Raising her glass in the woman's general direction in a brief toast, Carina Viretti drained her beverage.

* * *

 

Bedelia's eyes moved restlessly over the assembled guests as she held her third glass of wine loosely in her left hand. She couldn't see the ring through the red liquid, but she could feel it, tight and oppressive on her third finger. Her marriage to Hannibal was a ruse, of course, one that made perfectly sound sense, but she couldn't bring herself to like it. Hannibal exerted an uncomfortable amount of power over her, and it gave her a feeling of relentless nervousness. Hannibal was dangerous and unpredictable, and no one knew that better than Bedelia. She had to be constantly on her guard, constantly alert and careful, always wondering if today was the day that Hannibal would finally decide to start in on the banquet she knew she'd eventually provide for him, and it was frankly exhausting.  
It was probably, Bedelia reflected, as she stared moodily into her wineglass, the reason she'd started drinking more than usual.

  
As if to punctuate the thought, Bedelia took a long sip of wine. She was starting to feel a bit light-headed, and she was going to need to visit the restroom soon. Hannibal wouldn't approve of the fact that she'd downed a full glass of wine in the five minutes or so since he'd left her, with a kiss on the hand, for a conversation with some fellow academics, but for the moment, Bedelia didn't care. She finally had a little time to herself, and she could drink as she pleased.

  
After a few more moments of standing there, watching, Bedelia became aware of a presence at her side. She spared a cursory glance and was immediately struck by the girl's loveliness. She was maybe twenty-five years old, with dark hair that spilled over a midnight-blue gown and a pair of frankly splendid breasts, and she was eyeing Bedelia with unmistakable interest.

  
_“Parli italiano?”_ the girl asked with a little smile, showing a dimple in one cheek.

  
_“Si,”_ Bedelia replied, clutching her drink a little tighter, a bit surprised by the girl's use of the informal register.

  
The girl's smile widened. _“Sei italiana?”_ she inquired.

  
Bedelia shook her head, which was a mistake, because it made the room spin a little. _“No. Sono americana,”_ she said.

  
“Oh,” the girl said, dark eyes lighting up. _“Bene. Ma il mio inglese non é un granché.”_

  
Bedelia shrugged. “That won't be a problem,” she said in Italian.

  
The girl shifted in front of Bedelia and thrust out a manicured hand. “My name is Carina,” she announced.

  
Bedelia raised an eyebrow at the girl's irreverent forwardness, but she took the offered hand. No need to be rude, after all. “Lydia,” she introduced herself, using her chosen alias. “What field are you in?” A polite, expected question at a gathering like this.

  
“Medicine,” Carina replied briefly, wetting her full, red lips with her wine. “As for you...” she looked Bedelia up and down, in a way that sent a wave of self-consciousness through Bedelia's body, “let me guess: Italian Renaissance art?”

  
Bedelia's lips curved upward in spite of herself. “Actually, my husband is the academic, not I,” she demurred, “but I do appreciate the art of the era.”

  
“Most everyone does, I think,” Carina commented. “Even me, and I'm what you might call _earthy_.” She ran her tongue slowly over her lips, her eyes fixed on Bedelia's.

  
Something stirred in Bedelia's stomach, and she pushed it down. Probably a warning from her body to lay off the wine, she reasoned.

“There is a great deal of wonderful art to be seen here in Florence,” she commented lamely, swirling her drink. She had a sudden impulse to toss it all back and call for more. She wanted to be smashed out of her mind, until she forgot who and where she was and, perhaps most importantly, whom she was with.

  
Carina lowered her voice. “You could be a Madonna, I think,” she said. “You've got the right look.”

  
Bedelia nearly swallowed her tongue. She, a Madonna? If only this girl knew. She choked out a laugh. “I think not,” she said.

  
Carina shrugged. “I assure you, if it's something in your past that concerns you, you wouldn't need to worry. Just think of the women who've posed as Madonnas and saints before you. Hardly an entirely righteous lot.”

  
Bedelia's eyebrows shot up. This girl, academic or not, was clever. Oddly, Bedelia found herself liking the informality and borderline impropriety of this conversation. It was a welcome break from Hannibal, and the alcohol was making her brain a bit fuzzy anyway. She took another generous sip, smacking her lips at the taste. Carina's eyes, she noticed, followed the motion of her mouth.

  
It was then that Bedelia understood: this young woman was flirting with her.

  
Swiftly, she drained her glass. “Looks alone do not a Madonna make,” she said, placing the empty glass onto a passing tray.

  
“I'm inclined to disagree.” Boldly, Carina took a step closer to Bedelia. “Let that hair of yours down, perhaps put on a more modest dress...” her eyes swept blatantly over Bedelia's breasts, and she amended: “well, perhaps that wouldn't be _totally_ necessary.”

  
“Ms. Viretti.” Bedelia's voice came out soft and hushed, but still authoritative. She reached up and adjusted her necklace with her left hand, ensuring that the younger woman would catch sight of her ring. “You should know that I'm a married woman.”

  
“Oh, I know,” Carina said dismissively, as if the sacrament of marriage bore approximately the same importance as a “Wet Floor” sign in her world. “I promise, I don't mind. More wine?” She plucked another glass of red from a passing waiter and held it out to Bedelia.

  
Bedelia couldn't help but be a little stunned. “No, thank you,” she said.

  
Carina gave another charming shrug. “Suit yourself.” In a single smooth motion, she put the glass to her lips, tilted her head back, and drank it all as if it were water.

  
Bedelia swallowed hard.

  
When Carina lowered her glass, the color of the drink still clung to her lips, and Bedelia had a sudden, enticing vision of grabbing her slender hips, pulling her close, and kissing it away.

  
She shook her head. She was drunker than she'd thought and had begun projecting this girl's obvious desires through her own imagination. Over-empathizing.

  
Surely that was all.

  
“You can call me Carina, you know,” Carina remarked helpfully, slurring her words only slightly. She set her empty glass down.

  
Bedelia met her eyes. “Carina,” she said, “I think we both know that this conversation is inappropriate, and that it is only likely to become more inappropriate should it continue.”

  
“I don't mind if you don't,” was Carina's flippant reply. She tossed her hair and reached up to toy with her necklace, clearly trying to draw Bedelia's attention back to her breasts.

  
Painfully obvious though it might have been, it worked.

  
Bedelia felt her face grow warm, which she ascribed to the wine. Speaking of which...

  
“If you'll excuse me,” she said, “I need to use the restroom.”

  
“Oh, I'll come with you,” Carina said casually. She linked her arm through Bedelia's as if they were old friends, and Bedelia didn't resist. Partly because she didn't want to be rude, partly because she didn't want to make this into more than it was—a beautiful but foolish young woman flirting with a more mature, older one—but also partly because Carina's skin was incredibly smooth, her flesh incredibly warm, and her scent incredibly good.

  
Bedelia let herself be led.

**Author's Note:**

> Smut coming up in Chapter 2 ;) 
> 
> Also, I don't speak much Italian, but I didn't use Google Translate. If I made any mistakes, let me know!  
> Translation of their conversation:  
> "Do you speak Italian?"  
> "Yes."  
> "Are you Italian?"  
> "No. I'm American."  
> "Oh. Good. But my English isn't very good."


End file.
